


Hornblower

by orphan_account



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-28
Updated: 2010-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-07 15:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/66334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack has been learning about signals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hornblower

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the episode Loyalty.

1.

The Navy, Jack's mother had often said, made the finest men. He doubts this is quite what she had imagined as life aboard ship, and he would never confess to a solitary soul that the Navy has proved bitterly disappointing, even frightening, to him. And yet, he fancies he is becoming a man, as his family expects. He cannot think otherwise when he has learned to put away the hope he first carried on board, and fill its place with lessons on flags and carronades and the shocking taste of intimacy. 

The Captain has granted him barely a look since they left Portsmouth and, as before, that one look was enough to set Jack's heart to thumping. Reading the reports in the _Chronicle_ had given rise to a false impression, Jack realises now. Captain Hornblower is surely as great and daring in reality as he is on paper, but so much more distant. So much more than the people with whom Jack has been taught to make pleasant conversation. 

Hornblower walks the deck each morning, his eyes stoney and his mouth a grim line. No one speaks to him. Orrock said once that any man that did interrupt the Captain would get the lash, but Jack thinks this cannot be true. At the same time, he cannot be certain it is not. Sometimes he thinks about it from up in the rigging, watching Hornblower's long legs stride out the distance, watching Lieutenant Bush avert his eyes and look to the sea. 

 

2.

Jack has been learning about signals. Standing in the shadows, the unearthly half-dark of the lower decks, he struggles to decipher what he is seeing. Lieutenant Bush is waiting for an explanation: Jack is not on watch, not in his berth, not forthcoming with the right words. Bush stands perfectly steady and stern, reminding Jack of the Captain. They are both, he thinks, men of courage and worth, but where Hornblower is untouchable, Bush seems to be everywhere. Jack has imagined, perhaps shamefully, that Bush likes to bed rough women, and that he would do so as heartily as he bellows at the men on deck. 

It occurs to Jack that perhaps he must be the one to give the signal for it to be proper, and he is grateful, in the dimness, that Bush probably cannot see the way Jack's hand trembles as he reaches out and connects fingertips to sleeve. 

Bush gazes at him slowly as though they stood in daylight, as though he can see everything plain and clear. He says nothing, and so Jack takes a better hold of the jacket. Beneath there is a solid line of forearm as still as a statue. He slides his hand over, over, until it curves to touch the barest side of Bush's covered torso. 

When he raises his head there is something deliberate in Bush's eyes; they seem to take in Jack's cheek, his hair, his mouth. 

"I expect," Bush says at length, his voice low, "you've not grown into your full height yet, Mr Hammond."

Jack stands rigid and hesitant as Bush leans closer, enough that Jack feels warm breath slip along his face. His fingers are pressed a little into the worn wool they rest upon.

"Perhaps you're too young to know what it is you're doing."

"No," Jack says immediately. "I'm near twenty. Sir." 

Bush makes a noise, a mocking noise, like this fact is significant, and Jack straightens his shoulders. "I'm no boy," he declares.

"No," Bush agrees, "no, you're no boy. So why come to me as if you are?"

Certainty gutters out into fear, into silence. Jack knows what goes on between men in the Navy. He has heard it, at night, in the shadows, but he has failed to learn how it is these exchanges happen. Perhaps there is something that must be said first, some procedure. Perhaps he has erred horrifically, and Bush will tell everyone of his disgrace. 

"There's a punishment for just about everything in a ship of war, Mr Hammond," Bush says; if possible his voice sinks lower still, "and by God, none of them are as bad as what a midshipman gets if he tries to find dirty favour with me or the Captain. Understand?"

"I wouldn't -" The carved expression on Bush's face stops Jack from stammering excuses, and he retreats into whatever he knows of being an officer. "I, yes, I understand, sir. Please, forgive me if I -"

"Quiet," Bush orders. "Now, unless you want to be put to work, I suggest you get back to your berth, you -" He bites off the curse, but Jack hears it anyway, and feels Bush's eyes on his back as he leaves.

 

3.

Jack's hands have learned the feel of hot skin and hard muscle. Lieutenant Bush (Jack cannot call him William; that is for the Captain to do) has perhaps taken pity on him, and Jack has gone eagerly, hopefully, a hot ache between his legs as he kneels and Bush cups a hand behind his head.

Lieutenant Bush is brusque and efficient on deck, but when Jack sucks at him these qualities drop away; his body goes languid and heavy, leaning back easy. Still, even exposed like this, his trousers down and his shirt pushed up to the pale plateau of his belly, he'll accept only obedience. 

_Handsomely now_ Bush will murmur above him, and Jack remembers, and moves more slowly. If he looks up, Jack will see Bush watching him with a half-lidded gaze; _harder_ he'll breathe, _harder now_, and his fingers will grip more strongly. He tastes like salt, everywhere Jack puts his mouth. 

The first time, Bush pulled the tie from Jack's hair and stared at the curls with something like blankness. The second time he stroked callused fingers over Jack's neck, down into his shirt, down the front of his throat, and called him pretty in a hoarse voice. 

 

4.

Uncle Hammond is almost a father to Jack, and has been since Daniel Hammond died and left behind a young son. Jack, as everyone calls him, is an only child and his mother is certain that he will distinguish himself as a true Englishman, greater than his renowned uncle, more worldly than his parents. 

Uncle Hammond told him he would do well. _The Navy makes a man_, he would say, _something of worth_, and surely Lieutenant Bush is proof enough of this. Good men are to be found in the Navy, ones who will be remembered.

Jack is worried, however, lying on the cold sand, that he has not done quite well enough.


End file.
